The Time of Change

Spacewoman

Sleep suddenly releases its hold on me, and my eyes drift open. My brain fills with muddled thoughts attempting to wade through the grogginess and reach the coherent part of my mind. I feel a detached longing for the dream I just left. I wish I could go back and stay there forever, eternally within that place of happiness that comes with being asleep. Turning over on my right side, I clutch at the sheets and wrap them tightly around myself. I close my eyes again.

Somewhere in my chest I feel a twang of sadness as I remember snippets of my dream. I stood in a large empty cathedral, hearing an unfamiliar man's voice echo among the vacant pews. The light filtered through a massive stained-glass window and made the white dress I wore as vibrantly colorful as a sunset. I felt several powerful emotions that I couldn't possibly name now; all I know is that they were stronger than anything I've ever felt before. They only intensified—which I thought was impossible—when I looked at his face and saw him smiling at me.

I miss him, if he ever existed in the first place.

Sighing, I untangle my left hand from the sheets and blindly reach for my phone on the bedside table. Dimly I recognize that my hand feels a little heavier than it should, like I forgot to take off a bracelet before I went to bed. I think hard. What had I been doing last night? For some reason, I can't remember. I touch my fingertips to the bedside table and tap them rhythmically. The comforter on top of me lets out a pleasantly airy sound as my other hand grasps it.

    Something uncomfortable pricks at the inside of my head. Didn't my bed at home get burned to the ground, along with everything else I owned? Or was that just part of the dream, too?

    I force my eyes open and feel a shiver run through me. Something on my left hand, still extended in front of me, glimmers in the low light. It rests on the third finger.

My ring finger?

I sit bolt upright, and another realization hits me. This is not my bedroom. It's massive, its walls coated in what seems to be an ever-moving projection of the void of space. The bed is circular while mine at home was a tiny rectangle. I move my feet around to see if this is actually my body I'm looking at. The thick gray comforter shifts a little near the edge of the bed. Blinking, I focus my gaze on my hand and on the gold wedding band around my finger.

    I slip it off shakily, and my eyes zero in on the spindly, beautiful lettering engraved on the inside loop.

    Now and forever my impossible girl

    A tremulous breath escapes me. It wasn't a dream. It all really happened. I really left behind my whole life, everyone I knew, the job I had always wanted, and a comfortable, stable living. I really am laying here in the bed of my not-so-imaginary alien friend from a planet called Gallifrey that was destroyed by evil robots.

    I've really, actually, seriously married the literal man of my dreams.

    I just shouldn't sleep anymore. I always end up thinking that I dreamt it all.

    Heaving myself out of bed, I glance to my right at the bedside table and see my glasses sitting next to a photograph of me. With a slight smile, I push them up my nose. Then I stumble over the soft carpet toward the door. In the back of my mind, I register that I am no longer in my day clothes but a tee-shirt that is three sizes too large. It has the symbol for the Deathly Hallows from Harry Potter printed on the front. I squint down at it curiously, and with blush rising hotly in my cheeks, I realize that I am braless. Embarrassment floods through me, unwarranted. I wonder when we got married and why my only memories of the event are fragments of a dream.

    Without any kind of warning, the SpongeBob SquarePants theme song starts blasting, and I nearly jump out of my skin. After a second I recognize the sound as a ringtone. How is that possible? I run back over to the bed, scramble around in the sheets for a moment, then cast my eyes down to the floor. The leather jacket I nicked from the Wardrobe Room lies crumpled at the foot of the bed. The tiny pocket is flashing like a strobe light. I reach down, fish out my iPhone, and stare at the name on the screen for a long time, my heart stuttering.